Midnight Garden
by PenguinKye
Summary: For those who have not read this before, please defer to A Sense of Dark. For those who have, this is only up as a transition to New Version, which is BETTER and has a PLOT.
1. schu

NOTE: takes place after ep. 15, ultimately schuXfarf YAOI. You dun like, ES TU PROBLEMA!  
  
Disclaima: No. I didn't write the show. I would have had a better plot line, and fewer shirts.  
  
Midnight Garden  
  
by kye  
  
Chapter One  
  
It didn't start on purpose. Not for me, anyway. But I think, sometimes...I think that maybe it was what he wanted all along. I don't know why; I wouldn't dream of trying to understand him, his thoughts, his ways, his reasons. All I know is that once it started, it couldn't be stopped, not by anyone. Including me.  
  
I was stupid, to begin with. If I hadn't screwed up...well, no point in hindsight, is there?  
  
It was planned from the beginning, my meeting with Weiss. They wanted to get me back for little Miss Takatori. I was fine with that. They wanted to fight me, I just wanted to fight. It all worked out. If Schwarz just happened to slip up, and let it be known that I liked to hang out in a certain park at a certain time of night (yeah right), then who could say it was any more than coincidence? That their deaths were anything other than self-defence?  
  
The problem was, Weiss had, inconcievably, come up with a decent plan. Part of Weiss, anyway. As far as half of them knew, it was a regular mission: chase after the bad guys (me) using regular weapons, showing off regular moves, and waiting, as usual, until the end to go into Angsters' Choice mode. Unfortunately for me, good ole' Youji-kun had decided to be creative. He knew I'd hear their minds coming. And somehow he knew how best to block it.  
  
I waited for them, hidden in the dark of a park, as was traditional. Silence, blessed silence, left the air clear and unstifling. They were too far away for me to hear them, but I was waiting, like a great cat behind a tree. Waiting for the gazelle to appear. I was at ease; I could tell their distance from the tone of their thoughts. If I couldn't hear them yet, they were at least at the other side of the park.  
  
I didn't count on anything unusual. Strike one.  
  
It hit me so hard that I couldn't breathe for a moment. The terror, the disbelief, the horror they shared overcame me, waves of it as high as the skyscrapers. Images: Youji talking like he always did, or so their minds told me, and then silence.  
  
"No more," came his whisper, their confusion.  
  
And then...the gun. It came from somewhere in his coat. Not unusual. Nothing wrong. Until he pointed it at himself.  
  
"Yoh-!" started the young one. Omi.  
  
The shot echoed in their thoughts like an earthquake, terrible and enormous. He went down fast and hard, and Weiss was left gaping. Then screaming. The power of their shock was like a lightening bolt. All I could see was red.  
  
Their thoughts had caught hold and paralyzed me. I had fallen into their trap. For somehow, in all the fuss, I had missed that only three of them were there. And the fourth...Fujimiya Aya...  
  
I flinched as a hand wrapped around my mouth. From around the fingers I caught a glimpse of glinting steel. [Turn around, turn around, you have to fight him!] my mind urged me.  
  
But it was too late, and I was too distracted. There was no way that I could fight, caught offguard and dazed by the thoughts of the other Weiss. I gave one feeble show of resistance before I knew for certain that I had lost. The glitter I had seen moved up and towards me, and that was it: Fujimiya's famous katana was sheathed,and it wasn't in leather. My shoulder screamed, sending even more sparks across my vision. But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hearing my pain, since I knew he yearned for it. I swallowed hard, jaw clamped shut, and tasted blood. His blade slipping out of my shoulder choked me, and when its hilt hit my skull, I dropped like a stone. Faintly, I heard Youji's apologetic thoughts as he tried to wipe the red paint off his coat.  
  
  
  
They hadn't left me for dead. I found that out when I woke up, tied to a chair with a searing headache and a throb in my shoulder. The throb got my attention, and, curious, I rolled my head very carefully to one side so I could see my injury. It was untended and stiff. A long stretch of my coat was stained the dark red of cherries. I experimented with moving it and quickly gave up, letting myself sag against the hard wood.  
  
It wasn't as though I had much room to move in, anyway.  
  
I didn't think I had made much noise waking up, but something had compelled Weiss to come in at that moment. Now, Weiss is usually far from intimidating to someone of my strength. At this particular moment, however, the eyes that met mine sent frissions down my spine. It was hard to choose which of them was the most frightening. Youji looked smug, like a house cat who's caught a pesky moth. I didn't like being a moth. Yet if I ignored him, there was still Aya's stony glare, and Omi's unusual hatred, and Ken's casual, unblinking stare. I couldn't win. Couldn't. The thought was terrifying, and I wasn't used to terror.  
  
"Will they come for you?" Aya said bluntly. I caught his eye and glared into it, wishing I had the strength to kill him. But I didn't, and so my gaze dropped. Youji smirked.  
  
"Will they come?" he echoed Aya.  
  
"...I don't know," I said, and it was the truth. If a member of Weiss fell, the others would come for him. But I wasn't in Weiss. I wasn't a white knight. I was black. I was the true Night. The kind of night that holds blindness, and secrets, and evil.  
  
Night's creatures don't often cherish loyalties.  
  
"In that case," suggested Ken, "maybe you could tell us where to find them."  
  
"Yeah right."  
  
"No, really," he insisted. "You haven't got anything to lose. They're not your friends, right?" I couldn't contradict that, really. "And besides, it'll save you one hell of a beating."  
  
"No it won't," I muttered, thinking of the prizes that were usually doled out to traitors. I hadn't meant them to hear, but hear they did.  
  
"What kind of team would punish its own people?" Youji snorted. "Sure, you deserve it if anyone does, but if it were me, I damn well wouldn't stick around."  
  
"Piss off."  
  
"Hey, hey, no need for that. It's just an opinion. But maybe you're a glutton for punishment. Is that it?" I saw the fist coming towards me and dove into the nearest mind to soften the blow. Unfortunately, the nearest mind was Omi's. His thoughts were directed at me, and they burned with a hatred so powerful it should have killed him. Confused pictures of family- Reiji, Shuichi, his brothers, and especially Ouka- skittered through his flaming thoughts. It was too painful. I jumped back out just in time to feel the full force of Youji's fist.  
  
My head snapped back with the punch. I grimaced and looked up, only to see him staring intently at me. His expression made me edgy; it was twice as catty as it had been before. Instinct kicked in, and I looked at what he was thinking.  
  
I sucked in a breath when I realized what he knew, and what idea it had given him.  
  
"I think my friend has something to say to you," Youji said, tossing a glance at the stonelike Omi. "You know what it is. Hell, you're the one playing tourist in his brain. You saw it. You know just what he thinks of his sister's murderer. Don't you think he should get revenge?"  
  
Normally I wouldn't have worried about Omi Tsukiyono as being overly sadistic, but under the circumstances, I felt rightfully concerned.  
  
[shit.]  
  
He was very, very quiet. That was the most unusual thing about him. If he had cried and shouted and threatened, I would have had neither respect for nor fear of him. But the whole time, he had been silent, focused on only one thing. My pain.  
  
It had been going on for a very long time, or at least I felt so. I was trapped in a limbo: too concious to pass out and not concious enough to protect myself. Omi was a ruthless torturer, but also a careful one. He never let me cross that line into blissful blackness.  
  
I was hurt badly, to be frank. If they had untied me then, and said to get out on pain of death, I would have had to die. I was hiding from the pain by counting broken bones, which were in no small supply. I was helpless. Worse, I was tired. Little kid, hopeless, wretched tired.  
  
[help me] I said, to I didn't know who. I mouthed the words accidentally. One of the three spectre-like spectators flashed a smile.  
  
"Help you? You're on the wrong team for that, bud." Then something wiped the grin off his face and the smile from his voice. "Whoa!" He jumped backwards, bumping into his friends, as a creature they had expected not to expect appeared from no where. He glared at them appraisingly through his one eye, deciding whether to count them prey or let them go for a time. Then, with a quick glance in my direction, he made up his mind.  
  
They were insulted, I think, that he turned his back on them. He ignored them, and shoved Omi aside like a speck of dirt that had gotten in his way. I saw, through blurred eyes, the young Weiss's sense of control abandon him, saw him fall from power into extreme danger. Death breathed down his neck. But it wouldn't bite. Not today. He was safe today.  
  
Farfarello, ignoring them completely, cut me loose, then caught me with a remarkable show of reflexes. I looked at him, and he looked back. I tried to understand, was about to ask why...except that it was him. His reasons were his own, not the kind to pry into. I settled for gratefulness.  
  
He turned away from me and crouched down.  
  
"On," he said. I let myself fall against him. He supported me with one arm, wriggling catlike to adjust my weight over him. Shooting the Weiss a final warning glare, he backed through the door, then turned and ran.  
  
  
  
Okeedokee..this is my first WK fic, so I'm not sure how it looks or whether I'm gonna write more. It'll depend on reviews. Yeah, it's gonna be yaoi if it goes anywhere. Also a first for me, besides brief suggestion in Inner Bunny. So be kind, okay?? And thank my muse Marc for his lovely angsting. ^^ Marc: whatever. 


	2. farf

Disclaim: *grumbles* I do not own Wiess Kruez.  
  
Midnight Garden  
  
Chapter Two  
  
by Kye  
  
Stone cold death white tired. That was him when he woke up. I hadn't known if he was going to wake up at first. All I knew was I wanted him to, because he was important.  
  
When he did wake up, he still looked dead. I know what death looks like: it looks like he did. So I did what seemed sensible- I made sure he wasn't. His two whole eyes were foggy when they opened. When I leaned forward to feel his breath, they suddenly got wider and clearer.  
  
"Wh-?!" he said. He tried to push himself back in the bed. I caught his shoulder and he balked, and paled, and stopped moving. "Farfarello," he said slowly. I looked at him. "Let go." I did, without moving my eye a centimetre. He began to breath again. "Would you mind getting off me?" I backed off, but my eye still didn't leave him.  
  
"What is it like?" I said.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"The pain." He grimaced at me.  
  
"It hurts," he said. "Like pain usually does."  
  
"But it doesn't."  
  
"Not for you, but-"  
  
"That's why I want you to tell me," I explained. "Tell me your pain."  
  
"Why? What is there to tell if you don't know it? How can you tell a deaf person what music is like?"  
  
"They feel the vibrations," I said. He scowled.  
  
"Is that why you like to kill? To see pain since you can't feel it?" I'd never thought about it. Killing was instinctive.  
  
"Maybe," I said. "Tell me more."  
  
"I can't," he said. Death white tired. "I...Farfarello, where are the others?"  
  
"They're out."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"I don't know. Making a mess?"  
  
"Damn straight. They can't help that."  
  
"It'll be a tidy mess, though. They like tidy," I added.  
  
"'At's true." He yawned.  
  
"Sleep more," I ordered. "So you aren't stone cold death white tired anymore." He raised an eyebrow.  
  
"You're nuts, Farfarello." He stifled another yawn. "Thanks for saving my life." And his eyes closed, and he was asleep. So I was alone again. I listened to his breath for a while; it was long and steady, but not as deep as it should have been. I listened for change, for silence, for death, but it was a candle flame, small but unflickering. I lay my arms on the bed and my head on my arms, and I, too, went to sleep.  
  
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A.N. It's the shortest chappie of anything, ever!!! It's a quarter the size of the first chapter. -_-;; Honestly, though, I think that's more in character than anything drawn out. In farf POV, anyway. ^^ Thankies for the reviews. Although it took me a while to translate a couple of them.^^; (I take Spanish and Japanese, don't really know German at all) If you have any ideas on what I should do with this thing, TELL ME!!! I have absolutely no idea where this is leading. -_-;;  
  
Akemi: Idiot.  
  
Kye: ;_; why don't I have nice muses??*  
  
*see my bio, kudasai. 


	3. schu

Disclaimer: I. Don't. Own. This. Series.  
  
Midnight Garden  
  
Chapter Three  
  
By Kye  
  
He was still there. When I woke up, the next time. He was there. My waking mind had called it a dream, but I knew I was wrong when my eyes opened and they saw him, sleeping in my bed. On the plus side, he wasn't on top of me this time. He leaned against the wall, legs crossed, head bowed. His hands lay loose and open in his lap as though he were offering something. He looked gentler in his sleep- gentler, but just as hyper- aware. And he was in my bed.  
  
Very soon, I thought about escape. He'd already caught me once. I didn't want it happening again. I wriggled to the edge of the bed, looking like a very large and deficient chipmunk, intent on leaving quickly and quietly. Unfortunately, I over-threw the distance and rolled all the way off, landing shoulder first. Stars clouded my vision. When I could see again, Farfarello stood over me, eye flickering over my body. I fought the urge to hide from his inspection; after a long moment he looked more or less satisfied. He pulled me up as carefully as he could, his sinewy arms wound through my limp ones, and set me back in bed.  
  
"Are you all right?" he asked, perching on the edge of the mattress.  
  
"No," I said frankly. My shoulder wasn't the only thing that hurt. That little Weiss must have been a masochist, to know how to hurt people as thoroughly as he had me. Besides that, there was an insistent fuzzy feeling in my brain that had been growing since I'd woken. Despite all of that, I felt a hell of a lot better.  
  
"You aren't lying," noted Farfarello approvingly.  
  
"No." I wondered what had made him say that. Not enough to find out on my own, though.  
  
"Weiss would be acting tragic," he explained, as though he were the telepath. "They would lie. And then they'd pity themselves for their pain. Even though it would be their own fault." He was right. Weiss was just the kind of bunch that would delve into self-pity in an instant, if they had the right audience. It was one of the things that normally kept me from thinking of them as more than pests.  
  
"Yeah," I agreed. "Can I get some aspirin?" Farfarello didn't wait to answer. He simply stood and left. I strained my ears, and soon heard water running, and the plastic-y rattle of pills being shaken from a bottle. Farfarello reappeared a moment later, and for a moment I was dazed by the surreal sight. Here he was, the blade-happy, God-hating psycho, bringing medicine to his co-worker like a mother to her child. It was as though someone had jammed together a DaVinci and a Picasso.  
  
I reached out for the glass when he drew near, although I wasn't sure how I'd hold it; young Mr Tsukiyono hadn't left many fingers unbroken. Both hands were bound too tightly to bend. As it turned out, though, that wasn't an issue. Farfarello sat down, and before I could react, he stuck an aspirin in my mouth, and held up the glass until I pulled away with a gasp. He gave me two more pills, then set down the remaining water with a thump.  
  
"Can't I have more?" I asked with a hopeful grin.  
  
"No."  
  
"Damn. You're strict for a nutcase." I hoped saying that wouldn't piss him off too much. It would suck to get rescued from a bunch of pansy- ass good guys only to get mauled by the rescuer. But apparently he didn't take offense, because he looked back at me with perfect calm.  
  
"Crawford wanted to tell you something," he said, changing the subject.  
  
"Really? And why couldn't he tell me himself?"  
  
"He was being cautious."  
  
"Of what?" I asked, guessing the answer without a sneak peak at his labyrinthine brain.  
  
"Of me," answered Farfarello casually.  
  
"You wouldn't let him in, would you?" I sighed.  
  
"He'd have woken you up. I didn't want that."  
  
"Yeah, okay. What about Nagi?"  
  
"He's smart enough to know better. He hasn't come near here." There was something in the phrasing that distracted me from the words.  
  
"How long have I been out, Farfarello?" He looked at me as if to say, 'It took you that long to think of it?'.  
  
"Three days," he said.  
  
"Three days?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Shit, no wonder I feel better. Say, Farf?" I thought suddenly.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Have you been in here the whole time?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Did you eat anything?"  
  
"I was waiting for you to wake up." I groaned.  
  
"Farfarello. You have to eat."  
  
"I will. You're awake now."  
  
"That's not what I mean."  
  
"You're the one who let a cat scratch him."  
  
"Which means you should starve yourself. Of course."  
  
"I can take it."  
  
"Farfarello! Don't be an idiot. For God's sake--" His yellow eye flashed. "-I mean, for the love of all things dead, why don't you think about yourself for once?"  
  
"I always thing about myself. I just don't do anything about it sometimes. I'm fine. Shut up." Score. Farfie wins the match. And infuriates me. I hated losing, and even more being made angry.  
  
"Idiot," I said testily.  
  
"I'm not stupid, I'm crazy." Which was true.  
  
"Fine," I said. "I'll drop it. Just as long as I don't have to try to argue with you any more. It gives me a headache." He edged closer to me, setting a white hand against my forehead that must have looked stark against my skin. His fingertips drew along my temple, pushing away the throbbing pain in my head.  
  
"Does that help?" he asked softly, eye on his hand.  
  
"What are you doing?" I asked tiredly. I didn't try to pull away.  
  
"Helping," he said. "Helping you. Get rid of the pain."  
  
"What do you know about pain?" I mumbled at him.  
  
"I don't know it. Except in other people. It can be so pretty sometimes. But I don't want you to hurt. You don't look like Schuldich when you hurt." His fingers kneaded tightly into the back of my skull and I leaned into it like a cat.  
  
"I don't get you at all," I murmured.  
  
"No one does," he answered. I didn't reply, only let myself fall into the gentle pleasure of Farfarello's hand. I didn't care how odd it must have looked, as long as it chased away the pain. With the help of too much aspirin, that is.  
  
"What did Crawford want?" I mumbled, eyes closed.  
  
"A hunt."  
  
"For who?"  
  
"Your favorite little kitties." I grinned and sat up, my eyes opening.  
  
"A chance to turn the tables, hm?"  
  
"Until it squashes them flat." He looked back at me, dead serious as always.  
  
"How flat?"  
  
"Dead flat." I grinned again.  
  
"Guess Bradley's had enough of their kitten bravado," I mused.  
  
"Maybe he doesn't like you to be hurt, either," suggested Farfarello softly. His hand slid through my hair, and he watched it as if it were doing the most important thing in the world.  
  
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AN: yay yay, chappie three! Still no plot in sight, but I think I'm doing an okay job in the fan service department. ^^ I'm sorry about the long delay. There was this whole thing with the file that meant I could only work on it at my mom's comp at work...and the first time I've had a chance in weeks was right now. The fourth chapter is done. Depending on reviews, I'll choose when to post it. (hint) Later, gators!! ^^ 


	4. schu

Disclaimer: Not. Mine.  
  
Midnight Garden  
  
Chapter Four  
  
by Kye  
  
  
  
Crawford was itching to kill, itchinger than I had expected. As soon as I was up and around, which didn't take long, he was up and waving weapons at me. When he wasn't talking about gorey murder, albeit classy gorey murder, he was- yuck- fussing.  
  
"Are you ready? Can you handle it?" he asked me, four dozen times and counting.  
  
"Yes, Brad, I'm fine, just like last time you asked." He would pout at me in a manly way, drop it for five minutes, and then do the whole thing over again. The annoyance factor kind of faded after we hit two hundred.  
  
Somewhere in the middle of his fidgeting, we managed to come up with a plan. It was pretty basic: 1. enter their house. 2. kill them. 3. leave their house. We were fairly confident in it. There wasn't much you could do to screw it up, besides dying, and once you were dead it wouldn't much matter. So once we had our plan, and lots of weapons, we went out to find some blood.  
  
It was dark, which was fitting, and the night was frozen. Weiss was quiet. They hadn't come up with any new plans to kill us, and they hadn't found anyone else to practice on. So when we first saw them, they were sitting around in their basement livingroom with a deck of cards spread between them.  
  
"Kiddy games," Nagi muttered, lying flat against the frost-frozen grass to see through the window.  
  
"It would be much more fun if they bet on their lives. 'Oh! Bad hand!' Goodbye, head." Farfarello ran his tongue over his canines.  
  
"No matter," I said. "They'll die either way." He smiled at me, his scary predator smile. I was sincerely glad it wasn't aimed at me. I hoped not, anyway.  
  
Crawford flapped his hand at us to make us shut up.  
  
"Do you want them to know we're coming?" he asked, sincerely interested.  
  
"Only at the last second," Farfarello answered.  
  
"Then shut your mouths. You can talk later."  
  
"In a room with four corpses," added Nagi softly. He was thinking gruesome thoughts again. He did that sometimes, and when he did, I wasn't sure they weren't more gruesome than what Farfarello always thought. Of course, no one else thought twice about what he said, because he didn't elaborate. Not out loud, anyway. In his head, he was as imaginative as they come, and the pictures he painted were not pretty. If Brad could have seen he would have been proud.  
  
"Yes," said Crawford. "Let's go, please." Nagi shrugged. The thoughts of blood slipped sandlike to the back of his brain, into the dark places, and he concentrated on his job.  
  
He curled his fingers into the snow, staring intently at the window. Slowly the hooks rose, and the glass rode free, holding in place two inches from the frame. Brad reached into his coat and pulled out a thin metal cylinder, then dropped it through the open window. It stayed in freefall for less then a foot, and stopped short, making the rest of its journey to the floor in controlled silence. Not even when it touched down did it clink. Nagi brought his attention back to the floating window, drawing it back in to place and latching it without a hitch. He relaxed and took a row of deep breaths.  
  
"Perfect," said Crawford as Nagi stood. "Let us continue." Nagi rubbed his eyes.  
  
"That was some expensive insurance," he muttered from below his hands.  
  
"You've got more than enough energy to pay for it," said Brad. "Don't whine." Nagi dropped his hands and shut up, and we followed Crawford.  
  
For us, the doors opened and the floorboards didn't creak. The light from the basement was plenty to lead us. As we came to the steps, the only noise was the fwap of plastic coated cards hitting a plastic coated table. The players didn't look up. They were much too busy pretending to like their game to notice ours.  
  
Our name was for a reason. We crept up in blackness, while the white sat looking at nothing in foolish confidence.  
  
I heard Farfarello's thoughts: blood. Beautiful, rushing blood, freed from its man-shaped cage. Euphoria filled him, and threatened to overcome me as well, as a blade slipped into his hand. He would spill it. It would be his.  
  
"God won't cry over you," he whispered. Ran Fujimiya's head shot up. He searched the shadows for us as his fingers searched for his katana. They found it on the couch, and drew it, poised in front of him. The others looked confused for some seconds, which, in Ken's case, was some seconds too long.  
  
He blinked up from the floor, leaning on the wall against which Nagi had just thrown him. Ken was somewhat dazed. Nagi was somewhat armed. He walked deliberately to the wall, pulled out a handgun, and calmly fired. Ken slumped and his eyes glazed over.  
  
"Goal," said Nagi.  
  
Brad had gotten ahold of Youji.  
  
"Blondes are usually my type," he said. "Unfortunately, you are not a woman, and I want to kill you." Youji searched with stumbling fingers, and found very quickly that his trusty, shiny, killing-string wasn't where it should have been. And that was because Brad had it.  
  
Where Brad had it was around Youji's neck. Tight. Not tight enough to kill. That was why he had the knife.  
  
"Never, if it is avoidable, kill with a weapon you don't know," he advised, and thrust the wide blade in an upward arch that caught just beneath the breastbone. "It's not dependable," Brad continued, as though he didn't notice Youji's anguished eyes. "A familiar weapon, however-" Youji stared at the knife, and then stared at Crawford, eyes focusing and unfocusing. Crawford freed his blade with brisk yank "-is." Youji let loose the kind of whimper a Schnauzer makes when a potbellied pig sits on it, and fell to the floor with a lumpy sort of thump.  
  
"Lucky they won't have to worry about cleaning bills," I said, looking at the blood pooling around Crawford's prey. Brad shrugged his agreement, and turned his head. I followed his gaze to where Farfarello was playing Fujimiya. Farfarello was winning, but it didn't look as though his opponent knew that. He was fighting like he thought he would win. Sure, he got some blood, but only because Farfarello wanted to bleed. There was a smile on one face, which should have been Ran's first clue. But then, Weiss always was clueless.  
  
Sure of his victory, Ran stabbed forward...only to find his enemy not there.  
  
"Silly kitten," Farfarello breathed in his ear. Before Ran could fully turn his head, Farfarello twisted his foot around Ran's and dumped him to the floor. Sword raised and -CRACK- it broke through bone and muscle and everything in between. Ran wriggled, and gurgled a little, and stilled. Farfarello pulled back the blade and slowly, ecstatically, licked away the blood.  
  
"You know, you can get diseases that way," said Crawford. Farfarello spared him a disdainful, catlike glance.  
  
"From Fujimiya?" I snorted. "Yeah, right. Guy couldn't get laid if a whore bit him in the ass."  
  
"Not now, anyway," Nagi said with a small smile. We all paused to think about this happy thought. If he couldn't get laid, he couldn't have children, which, I thought, was lucky for humanity. Not that I should be one to talk.  
  
I felt our minds change focus, all at the same time. Of one accord, we turned on the one piece of Weiss cake that thought we were to full to munch it.  
  
"Omi-kun," I said with a smile. "Nice to see you again. We've had some good times, huh? I guess I just can't stay away." He got paler and paler as I spoke, and he'd must have invested in a vacuum packer, because he seemed to have shrunk to about a third of his normal size. He looked rapidly from me to the darker shadows around me, unable to decide which was worst. I could feel the others' minds snaking in deadly coils. If I hadn't recovered by then, I was healed on the spot. It's so beautiful to know that you have friends who are willing to maul by your side.  
  
Farfarello looked at Omi in his lazy-dangerous way, his elbow resting on my shoulder as he played at the ends of my hair.  
  
Omi stuttered.  
  
"It was revenge. I deserved it. You deserved it. You killed her. Killed her. My sister. It was right. Right. One for one. And you're not even dead. It's even. It was--I--" His eyes darted to his dead companions.  
  
"'One for one'," I said. "Interesting. Very Old Testament. You should talk to Farf about that. I'm sure he'd have a lot to say on it, although usually he prefers horrible, wracking death to sermons." Omi stared.  
  
"You're wrong," Farfarello said to Omi, dropping my hair. "He didn't even kill her." His voice pitched up and became singsong. "He di-dn't kill her...stupid little kitten." Omi, at this point, was as white as an albino platypus.  
  
"No."  
  
"Um...yes, actually," said Nagi.  
  
"Very sloppy," said Crawford. "Not even knowing who you want revenge against."  
  
"No!"  
  
"It was Farfarello," said Nagi.  
  
"No..." he moaned quietly. Back into Angstlund. I wished Angstlund would lock him out. Say, sorry, you can't come in, you've been here too many times and you're making the natives suicidal. So sorry. Try the country next door, I hear they make a mean cheese pastry.  
  
"Your mistake," I said. "I'd let it drop if you'd let me, but I know what a justice freak you are."  
  
"I didn't know!" I laughed.  
  
"Ain't that the story of the world! And hey, Newton's third law isn't there for nothing. Sorry, kid."  
  
"No...no! NO!" I shrugged, drew a knife, and dove into his head. And this time, I was ready.  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
Author's Notes: Yay! A nice gooey chapter. Don't worry, I have a couple things planned off of this one. Hey...how many people are really, really angry about what I just did to the title characters? Well, I'm just following reader orders. Someone said Schu could've killed them and Farf should've. Ta-da! ^^ Question: does this merit an R-rating, or am I still kiddy safe? *thinks* It would be funny if it were R, since that would mean, according to the ratings, that I can't read my own story without an adult...until next time! Oh- Newton's third law is the one about every action having an opposite reaction. ^^ get it? 


	5. brad

Diclaimer: I didn't make WK. That dude in the VA interviews did.  
  
Midnight Garden  
  
Chapter Five  
  
by Kye  
  
  
  
We took our leave two hours after our arrival.  
  
"Thank you," said Nagi. "Any longer and I think it would have killed me. All that whinging. Makes assasins look bad. As I see it, the world's better off."  
  
"Hu. I've never thought of myself helping the world before," said Schuldich curiously, flicking a drop of blood from his cheek. It smeared slightly, leaving a faint trail of pink along his cheekbone. Farfarello dampened one finger on the tip of his tongue and, slowly, wiped away the pink.  
  
"Gone," said Farfarello. Schuldich glanced askance at him and his ever-smiling smile twitched up a notch.  
  
I watched him. I knew Schuldich, and I knew that he loved blood almost as much as Farfarello, if in a somewhat different way. I knew, and would have known even if I hadn't Seen it, that he would try, soon, to disappear. But if he were let loose now, he would come back only very much later, totally iniebriated and totally impossible.  
  
To this, I Saw a very bad outcome.  
  
So I watched, and noticed, as I always did, how alive they all seemed in the darkness. It was no coincidence. There was a reason we were Black, after all. We were hunters, watchers, the shadows in the darkness you didn't know was there. We were wild. We were the sharp teeth behind a crooked smile. And like any good predators, we thrived in the dark. This was our hunting ground, our territory, our bloody playground. Our midnight garden.  
  
"Hey, Brad," said Schuldich expectedly, breaking into my thoughts.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I'm gonna ditch for a-"  
  
"No."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because if I let you, you won't be useful for days afterwards."  
  
"You know I like a drink after blood," he said.  
  
"I know. That is why you are not going anywhere but home," I replied, not giving an inch.  
  
"Spoilsport. Jerk. Bastard."  
  
"That will not help your case," I said. "You can have something at home. Under supervision."  
  
"What fun is that?"  
  
"None," I said. "Stop whining."  
  
"I hate you sometimes," he said, and there was no doubt that he meant it. He was always so shifty, one minute ruthlessly pillaging a boy's mind, the next calling names that dated back to elementary school. And then there was the coldness. With everything else, you could tell there was human being in him still, albeit twisted, bloodlusting human being. But then...then, instantaneously, there would be a change, and if you could read minds like he could, you would find nothing but darkness and hatred, both so deep you would fall in and never climb out. I worried sometimes that he would fall in too, and sometimes when I worried I Saw. What I Saw never made me feel better.  
  
Nagi took notice of the tension. He did not like tension, unless he had planned it. He had not planned this. Therefore, he chose to break it.  
  
"What will we play with now?" he asked. "The kitties' litter is all gone."  
  
"How about Schreient?" said Schuldich. I could tell he was not entirely appeased, but I hoped that he would be by the time we got home.  
  
"You hired them," Nagi pointed out.  
  
"So? That doesn't mean I won't kill them." I had been wrong. He wasn't at all appeased. His smile had returned, but it was icy. He was looking at Nagi, who was looking angry. "Besides," he continued, "There isn't one worth the money. And they aren't even that good at what they do." His voiced pitched up. "'Oh, Masafumi!' 'Oh, darling!' 'Oh, daddy!' And that Tot's a real winner. 'Ooh! Stay away, you bad man, or I'll poke you with my umbrella!'" He snorted offhandedly, but he was watching Nagi as intently as a hawk. Nagi stopped walking, stone still.  
  
"Stay the hell out of my head, you pathetic drunk. You want a brain to play around in, try your crazy boyfriend. I'm not open for business." What humor had been left in Schuldich's face vanished, leaving him pale and angry. He was on a precipice. If someone tried to talk him down, he would jump. If someone tried to pull him back, he would take them with him.  
  
"Do. Not. Call. Me. That. Do not call him that." He pointed at Farfarello, who was watching them as intently as I was. He spoke slowly, on the edge of a growl, his mouth the only part of him that was moving. Nagi glared back. I realized suddenly that what I had Seen was a consequence of my holding Schuldich back, and not of his drunkenness at all.  
  
"Why not?" said Nagi. "It's all true." Stupid, stupid boy. I Saw it coming, and it wasn't good.  
  
"Stop," I ordered sharply. I looked at Farfarello's hand. It had half drawn the blade that had killed Ran Fujimiya. He held it a moment longer, to show that he could have disobeyed if he had wanted to, and let it drop. "Thank you. Nagi, don't antagonize people. Schuldich, don't sweat it. And don't mess with Nagi's head, please." Five eyes latched onto me, all angry, all hungry for revenge. "And don't look at me like that. Oh, really. We just rid ourselves of the claws in our side. I should think that was good enough for you."  
  
Schuldich seemed to drop back into himself. He sighed deeply, shrugged his eyebrows, turned to me and said:  
  
"Did you say something about a drink?" I smiled.  
  
"Yes, Schuldich."  
  
"That's the last thing he needs," grumbled Nagi. I waited to see how Schuldich would react, but all he did was laugh. I saw a small grin twitch on Nagi's lowered face. Farfarello stopped looking like he was about to pounce. It was over, then. Yet another crisis averted.  
  
It was ironic, I thought, that the worst danger to Schwarz came from Schwarz itself. It was a good thing they had someone to lead them. Quite honestly, if they didn't have me, they would have killed themselves a dozen times over. I did not mind the job; their bad moods were outweighed by their good moods. In their good moods, they were the best of the best- or perhaps the worst of the worst. And they were all smart, no matter how well some of them hid it. I liked that. I hated to be around stupid people, including smart people who pretended to be stupid for inane reasons. Schwarz always had smart reasons, like insanity, and protection. I appreciated that. That, and I liked having someone to watch over. They were crazy, angry, and very dangerous, but to some extent they depended on me. To some extent, the scariest people in the country trusted and listened to me. Only me. That is certaintly an ego booster.  
  
I Saw. I didn't expect it. I wasn't looking for it. But I Saw. It was dark and it was power, and it didn't like us. It wanted us gone, very, very gone. As gone as Weiss. It wasn't far away, in time or space.  
  
As far I could see, Schreient had just been saved.  
  
It was just as I thought so that Schuldich stopped dead.  
  
"Who is that?" he whispered. And fell over. 


	6. schu

Midnight Garden  
  
by Kye  
  
Chapter Six  
It hurts to be lost in your own head. Pretty damn scary, too, especially when someone you don't know is floating around with you. Especially when you can hardly think over the noise of...everything, and they're perfectly all right. Especially when you can't block the voices, and they can.  
  
[who are you?] I asked, scrabbling in the dark for a foothold in my very confused mind. Hundreds of people chattered in the background like a flock of birds. I tried to push it away so that I could hear any answer to my question. And then, not because of me, all of the voices stopped. For the first time in a long time, there was silence. Silence. I almost didn't understand what I was hearing, that it was nothing, plain and simple. I realized and I listened to it. It felt to me as though there would never be sound again-- until the blessed silence was broken by the being who was sharing my mind. There was laughter, so loud and powerful I thought my whole existence would be shattered.  
  
[I? I Am A Hunter.] said a voice. It was only slightly more bearable than the laughter.  
  
[yeah, okay, so you're a hunter. what the fuck are you doing in my head?] I clung to some steady thought, hoping it wouldn't slide away and leave me drifting like a dead fish in a pond. I nearly slipped, but somehow kept my hold. My ears rang at both the unaccustomed silence and the horrible sound of The Voice.  
  
[What Do You Think?] said The Voice. I wondered when I had asked a question. I was losing time. [I Am Hunting You.]  
  
[me? why bother?] I asked almost sincerely.  
  
[Do You Want To Know?] I didn't dignify the question with an answer.  
  
[Well, If You Wish.] The Voice said. I flinched, and the world changed.  
  
Switzerland? There were mountains. The Swiss Alps, I thought. Bright, bright snow, as painful as The Voice after the darkness of my mind. There was a building here, tucked unaestheticly onto a flattened piece of mountain. A long, low roof. A wide porch, tiled, bordered by ineffectual- looking fencing. A long table, at which sat three ugly old people. Well, they weren't that ugly, or wouldn't have been, if I hadn't known who they were.  
  
Eszett. Damned Eszett. Determined to make Schwarz their precious little lapdogs until the day they died. Who thought that the only good suit was a white suit. Little old people who looked perfectly nice and cuddly until they ripped your throat out for the sake of some stupid mystic cult.  
  
I hated Eszett.  
  
The laugh came back, and I remembered where I was. Or wasn't. Whatever.  
  
[That's The Point.] said The Voice. [That You Hate Eszett Is The Point. Look.] I looked. Usually the Elderly Eszetts were as docile as a pack of drugged dairy cows. Today, though, they seemed almost annoyed; they sipped their tea as ferociously as you can sip tea, and their facial hair quivered with aggravation. I wondered what had their old-person panties in a twist. Maybe one of them had dropped their communal dentures down the garbage disposal.  
  
"So he has failed," said one of the old ones, furrowing his brow. His pinky finger tapped distractedly at his teacup.  
  
Nope, not the dentures, I thought.  
  
"I guess he wasn't as strong as we thought," said another, the woman. She shifted in her seat, leaning her cheek against her loose fist.  
  
"Then shall we send in a replacement?" asked the third. "Perhaps he will perform more commendably than his predecessors."  
  
"Yes," said the old woman. "I know who we should send." She took a sip of her tea and smiled. "I know just who we should send instead."  
  
And what the hell was all that supposed to mean?  
  
A second later, I squeezed my mental eyes shut, trying to get some sort of balance. They had disappeared too quickly for me to register, and it left me dizzy and out of sorts.  
  
[what the hell was all that supposed to mean?] I asked groggily.  
  
[They Were Speaking Of Their Agents In Japan. Specifically One Reiji Takatori.]  
  
[yeah, he did screw up, didn't he. so, what, you're his replacement?] I almost heard The Voice smile.  
  
[Yes, Me. And They Weren't Just Talking About Takatori, You Know.]  
  
[you mean they're pissed at us, too?]  
  
[Very.]  
  
[what the fuck? we didn't screw up. he did.]  
  
[They Don't See It That Way.] said the voice.  
  
[so you're going to kill schwarz?]  
  
[Oh, Yes, Of Course.] It said matter-of-factly. [Eventually, That Is.]  
  
[what do you mean, eventually?] I asked. My head had started to hurt when The Voice showed me Eszett, and it was beginning to peak at excruciating.  
  
[Wouldn't You Like To Know.] said The Voice, and slipped out of my mind. For a moment following extreme irritation at the abrupt exit, there was pure, blissful silence. And then The Voice let the voices of everyone else climb back between my thoughts. It was sudden. It was too much.  
  
[let me out, let me out, let me out!] I begged into my mind, and of course it didn't help, because it was me I was yelling at. Too much at once. Too much at all. I dug through the voices, searching for anything that would let me out. Crowded, loud, horrible, terrible, never-ending people. All of them, all of them so painful or so joyful. So, so strong... I couldn't block them from inside. [LET ME OUT!] I screamed it, pounding on the walls of my mind. The Voice had left, but It had left Its power behind. I was trapped, and I was going crazy. I didn't like going crazy, I never liked going crazy. I'd already lost it once that night.  
  
I shuddered, my mind shuddered, as it fought against itself. My mental knuckles bled. I wouldn't have been surprised if my real knuckles were bleeding, too, out in the world. In the shittiest telepathic situations, what the mind believes, reality produces.  
  
[YOU SON OF A BITCH, LET ME OUT!!] I felt the walls of my mind shake. I hoped I wouldn't cause my own brain death. I shoved into one las effort. [LET...ME...OUT!]A quake ran through me and my mind that knocked me over. There was a mental shrug of the person-not-me, and I dropped into conciousness.  
  
-------------------------------------  
  
AN. Sorry it took so long for so little. I had serious writer's block on this one. I had a totally different idea for this, but I wrote that plot four times and it always sucked, so I changed over to this, which I also wrote several times. Forgive my lazy brain. -_- See ya next time!  
  
Marc: that wasn't angsty enough.  
  
Akemi: That wasn't anything enough! You suck!  
  
kye: ;_;  
  
Eki: Um, Ake-chan, that was kinda my chapter.  
  
Akemi: Oh. Scratch that, then. It was the best chapter ever!!  
  
Kye: -_-;; ...later, minna-san. 


	7. nagi

Midnight Garden  
  
by Kye  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
---------------  
  
Just before he hit the ground, Farf caught him. I think he could have caught him earlier if he wanted to, but Farf doesn't always want what makes sense to other people.  
  
I sort of trotted over to where Farf was bent down to see if Schu was all right. He probably wasn't-- usually if he said something completely confusing, it meant something important, and important things didn't tend to be good for him. I set down on my heels next to Farf.  
  
"Schu?" I said. He sucked in a breath, sat up, and opened his eyes.  
  
"Shit," he said.  
  
"Okay," I agreed. "What--" Brad crowded past me in a dispassionate and leaderly way, bumping into me just hard enough to knock me over from my precarious position.  
  
ow, I thought. But I didn't really want to get the Crawfish annoyed with me, so I kept quiet.  
  
"What happened?" asked Brad briskly. Schu glared at him.  
  
"And you couldn't just let Nagi finish saying the same thing?" He rubbed his forehead with the back of a hand. When he dropped the hand to his side, Farf grabbed it. I noticed this with some interest; Farf had been acting very...possessive, or at the least, protective, since ending the Omi Torture Game three weeks before. It was what had caused me to come up with the 'crazy boyfriend' bit, something I now truly regretted saying.  
  
"No. Answer the question, please, Schuldich." Schu sighed irritatedly.  
  
"All right, I'll tell ya. Eszett's pissed off that Takatori screwed up, and they think we're partly to blame, and now they've sent one Mister Super-Talent over the big blue water to do away with the failures." He bared his teeth a little. I was beginning to be impressed; for what had started off as a very good evening, Schu was proving very good at maintaining a horrible mood.  
  
"Nags, stop thinking so loud. My head feels like shit already, without you crowding up the place."  
  
"What's wrong with your shields?" I asked. He didn't usually have trouble blocking us out, being as familiar with our minds as he was.  
  
"Bastard screwed them up." He reclaimed his hand from Farf and leaned his head against it. "So if you don't mind, please shut the hell up." I didn't answer, since that would have meant doing something that certainly wasn't shutting the hell up. Brad didn't have the same qualms.  
  
"Are we in danger, immediate or otherwise?" he demanded. "Who is this adversary, exactly?"  
  
"Bradley, you shmuck, what do you think? If he can knock me out by simply visiting my brain- which he did, by the way, completely on purpose- then I'd say yes, we're in danger. I don't know how immediate. He didn't exactly give me an itinerary. And he didn't give me his name and address either, just in case you were wondering."  
  
"Of course he didn't," replied Brad. "Don't be nonsensical." Schu growled.  
  
"Bradley..." he said warningly. Brad sighed.  
  
"All right, all right. We can talk about this at home. Come now, get up." He looked down at the three of us from under his glasses. He was the fearless leader. He couldn't lower himself to sitting down like the rest of us (no pun intended). It was that kind of behavior that made us all hate him at times.  
  
Farf grabbed Schu's hand again, unfurled in a single fluid motion, and carefully pulled Schu up after him. I rose on my own, dusting off the back of my pants. Without a word, Brad turned away, walking towards home. If it was a home.  
  
Crawfish, I thought. Schu grimaced and shrugged.  
  
"And there's nothing we can do about it," he said. "C'mon, let's go."  
  
I followed him and Farf, feeling a lot more like a third wheel than a fellow disgruntled teammate; Farf hadn't let go of Schu's hand, and Schu wasn't complaining.  
  
---------------------------------  
  
Crawford reached the house only a few seconds before us, long enough to unlock the door and shut it behind him. I reopened it for us, complaining only in my head. Not that my silence did any good, considering my company.  
  
"As our esteemed leader would say, don't sweat it, Nags," Schu said softly, grinning, I guess, at my creative insults. That was the good thing about Schuldich: even if we did get into fights, the rest of the time we were friends, good friends. Conspirators. Not that I didn't like Farf, but it was hard to be close to him without fearing for your future. Rarely he would say something so sane you would forget he wasn't, and in those moments he could be very likable. Then, of course, it would turn back to God, this, and blood, that. He wasn't exactly a prize investment in stable relationships. It sort of made me wonder why Schu was letting himself get dragged into one. A relationship, that is. Because even if he didn't see that he was, I could. I'm not stupid. Then, none of us are. The job doesn't allow it.  
  
"I thought I'd warned you about that kind of thought," Schu said, interrupting.  
  
"And I said to keep out of my brain," I returned mildly. I had no real worries about another argument stemming from what I said-- we'd had it out for the night, and anything else we said would be taken in the best humor possible.  
  
"Don't count on it," said Schu in mock-warning.  
  
"Of course not," I said. I flicked on the lights, which Brad had kindly neglected to do, and kicked off my shoes. Shoes always went on a mat on the lowered part of the floor, unless you were Schu, in which case they went wherever you did. It was an infuriating habit that he deliberately didn't break.  
  
I stepped onto the carpeted floor of the main level and into the livingroom. It was wide and open for a Japanese apartment, and comfortably housed two sofas and a television. It branched into the kitchen on the right, and a doorway straight ahead led to the bedrooms and bathroom. They, too, were large for their location. I started towards my room when, from the kitchen, a voice halted me.  
  
"Not yet, Nagi," said Brad, emerging from behind the island with a coffee cup. A burst of steam puffed out of the kettle, wreathing Brad's face in mist. His glasses fogged up. "Stay put," he said blindly, fumbling for the burner's switch. It met his hand, and he clicked it off. "Schuldich, do you still want that drink?"  
  
"What the hell," said Schu. "But please make it real beer. If you feed me that bird-piss wine one more time..."  
  
"All right, all right," interrupted Brad. He disappeared behind the island again, digging for Schu's beloved German beer. Schu, meanwhile, flung himself onto the fluffier of our two couches, stretching out so that he covered it from end to end. Farf sat on the floor nearbye and leaned against one end of the sofa, staring out into the unlit hallway.  
  
Drinks in hand, Brad approached, at once assuming his most condescending and leaderish tone.  
  
"Now, Schuldich, I know you're going to complain, but I absolutely must know everything about your encounter with this...being...Eszett has sent after us. It is of vital imp--" He stopped short, having just looked down at the sofa where Schu had put himself. I stifled a laugh at Brad's face- he really did earn the name Crawfish. His nose wrinkled in annoyance, and he set the drinks down on the end-table with a clunk.  
  
"Impertinence," he said, a word I had never thought I'd hear a grown man utter.  
  
Schu rolled over and began to snore.  
  
----------------------  
  
A.N.: Ooh, I quite liked that one. Nagi's fun to write. ^^ I like giving him a sense of humor.  
  
Rika: Barely! when am I going to get a whole story, huh?!  
  
Kye: ;_; Even my nice muses aren't nice to me...  
  
Marc: Not even any angsting...my life is worthless... *tries to jump off cliff*  
  
kye: *ties marc to a chair far away from high places* okeedok, everboddy ...next time, then...if i'm still alive... 


	8. farf

Midnight Garden  
  
Chapter 8  
  
by Kye  
  
It's not nice to leave without telling. Even I know that. Why did my schuld leave, then? In the dark, he got up. Quiet, quiet. Like me, so quiet. But I can hear things that move quieter than I do. I heard him.  
  
He didn't know. He stepped past, touched the door, kept it silent somehow when he opened. It didn't make noise when it shut, either. He told it not to make a noise, is what I guess. I can't tell things to be quiet like that. But my schuld can. He can make anything listen. He can catch anything and play with it like a puppet, a puppet with too many strings. He can control them all, though. Even with more strings than fingers, they are all his.  
  
I followed my schuld, because he shouldn't have gone without saying. I followed behind, hidden in the shadow, and I was quieter than he was. He couldn't even hear what I was thinking, so quiet was I.  
  
He was slower walking than when he hunted, because he was drinking the dark. I know, because I like to drink the dark, too. It's almost as good as blood. He tasted the dark, and followed the smell of other drinking things. I smiled because he was doing what the Tall One didn't want. No one did, usually. Do what the Tall One wanted. He hadn't power. That was ours. Mine. My schuld's. The dark-eyes boy's.  
  
He, my schuld, went into the pub, full of lights, full of people, full of drinking. He smiled, and they thought it was for them. It wasn't, of course. Not for people who took up his mind. For the drinks, he smiled. Not for them. Never for them.  
  
He drank until he tipped, like the people in pubs where I was before. But he had better reasons than they did. They were weak from weak trouble. My schuld had hard trouble, and the voices. He needed it, the drinking. It took the voices away. No one could say the voices were weak troubles. They were worse than anything weak.  
  
He drank till he tipped, and then he left. He smiled still, and they still thought it was for them. Stupid people. Never understanding how wicked they were for what they did. For their loud, silly voices. He left, and I followed him in the shadow still. He opened the door, but this time not quiet as me. It was loud shutting. I was quiet. I came in after and I didn't make noise at all.  
  
He went back to sleeping, sleeping on the sofa where the Tall One thought he should be. I went back to the end of it, and I didn't sleep. Because I was watching. I was listening, in case my schuld wanted to leave again. If he left again, I would leave too. Tipping schuld shouldn't be alone. So I watched and I listened, and I stayed awake. I heard him sleeping. My schuld didn't hear me at all.  
  
----------------------------  
  
A.N. This is for the peeps (read: Piper) who begged for another farf POV. Considering that those people (read: Piper) are both bigger and scarier (don't hurt me for saying that...^^) than I am, I didn't want to argue. How d'you like? ^^ I'm still sorry for that long absence between 5 and 6, but I'm back, and back with a more-or-less plan. So despite the fact that the continuity and flow of this story are pretty much nonexistant and it is therefore getting on my nerves when not read as standalone chapters, I will GO ON and write it very much longer. I don't know how much longer, but look for at least...oh, I have no idea. I'll just say I wouldn't be shocked if it ended out longer than Changing Wyrds (Inuyasha, 14 chappies). Later, gators. 


	9. nagi

Midnight Garden  
  
by Kye  
  
Chapter 9  
  
"What the HELL DO YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?" I groaned and flipped over in my bed. Being shouted at was pretty much the least pleasant way to wake up. Listening to other people being shouted at was not so much better. Brad's voice tended to carry, when he wanted it to, and when he was angry at Schu, he wanted.  
  
"I TOLD you not to drink unsupervised, I TOLD you you couldn't go out, and this is what you do?! Look at yourself! You're a hung-over, half sentient, amoeba-brained mess!" I sighed, rolled out of bed, and pulled something to wear out of my closet.  
  
"What kind of idiotic thing were you trying to do, huh, Schuldich?! After what happened last night with WHOMEVER it is that Eszett has sent after us?! You GO OUT ALONE?!" I opened my door, still half asleep, and padded into the livingroom. Brad loomed over the sofa; there Schu sat, hair mussed, eyes fuzzy, looking sulky and headachy. Farf was exactly where he had been the night before, sitting cross-legged at the end of the couch. He watched Brad silently but venomously, chewing on those needles he liked so much. If Brad hadn't been in full Crawfish mode, he probably would have been concerned about that look.  
  
"Whaddya do, Schu?" I asked, covering a yawn with one hand.  
  
"Drank," he answered. "Without Mommy Crawford holding my hand." Brad's face pinched up like he'd sucked all the air out of his cheeks, and turned roughly the color of lettuce.  
  
"Schuldich!" he snapped. With a nauseous-sounding moan, Schu dropped his head to his knees, covering it with both arms.  
  
"Dn't be sho loud," he mumbled into his legs. Brad's hand shot out, neatly catching the back of Schu's collar. He heaved Schu to his feet, his expression like a hurricane. Farf tensed, then twisted around to look over end of the couch. I heard a sharp hiss as he sucked in his breath.  
  
"Leave it, Farf," I said in a low voice. "Brad'll get what's coming." Farf didn't turn around, but he also didn't rip Brad's throat out. That was good enough for me.  
  
"If your head hurts now, it's your fault," Brad barked. Schu stared askance at him, and said evenly  
  
"Let go of me, Brad Crawford." Brad didn't, of course. He was still The Crawfish, and The Crawfish didn't back down from those he considered his subordinates. For a pre-cog, he certainly pushed his luck. If it had been me, I would have let Schu go and then offered to buy him whatever he wanted for the next month.  
  
"I won't ever be able to let you go, Schuldich," Brad answered smoothly. "The minute I let you off on your own, you just slip back into the pit I pulled you out of. You can't be let go. You're not strong enough." His smile was smug, and his eyes glittered coldly behind his glasses. "You need your leash." Schu's eyes narrowed, and he yanked furiously out of Brad's grip.  
  
"Never," he said softly. "Never, never take the credit for anything in my life. You think you know me?" His voice began to rise. "You think it was the invincible Brad Crawford who redeemed my lost soul? You think you have me tied down like your little bitch assassin?! Don't you try to understand me, you self-righteous bastard! You. Do not. Know." He gave Brad one last all-powerful stare, then seemed to twitch out of his anger. "As for what the hell I thought I was doing," he said, glancing up again, "I was trying to block the voices." He stepped around the couch and Farf and me, towards his room. He paused, not looking back, and said in an empty voice, "I can't keep them out." He walked softly down the hall, and into his room, and shut the door quietly behind him.  
  
I could just see the lightbulb going on in Crawfish's head, and I would have laughed inside at his expression if I hadn't had the same look on my own face.  
  
"He can't block them," I whispered. Farf stood up, looking like he didn't know what to do with himself. I didn't blame him. Brad stood silently behind us, pale as a moon melon. I wasn't Schu, but I knew the gist of what all three of us were thinking.  
  
oh, crap.  
  
--------------------------------  
  
Brad was reading the paper. He'd read another one before it, and had in the last two hours gone through four cups of tea and about half a loaf of bread and butter. I had supposedly been reading a book, but really I was just watching Brad. In regards to the book, I'd read only twenty pages 120 minutes. With regards to Brad, I was getting just a little annoyed.  
  
"Brad," I said, "you have to talk to Schu. He's not going to come out." And why should he, I added to myself. It was Brad's fault, anyway.  
  
"I will," said Brad, eyes still on his paper. "I will." The way he said it I knew he had Seen that he would, not that he would go without a fight. I snorted softly, disgusted, and turned a page. I wished Farf hadn't disappeared; he would have been much better company than the Crawfish.  
  
"Yeah, of course. When it's too late," I muttered, burying my nose in the pages. I didn't mean this time in particular. I meant always. Brad's basic, all-purpose, all-scenario plan was to wait until nothing could be done about a thing and then blame it on fate. It was a painfully obvious lie; The only way Brad had survived this long was by changing fate. But still he did it.  
  
For example. If Farf hadn't grown suddenly attached to Schu and decided he needed saving from the White Wimps, Schu probably would have been left to die. If Brad had as much control over us as he thinks he does, he would have been able to convince Farf and me that "everything was gonna be all right" and then play sad when Schu ended up dead in an alley. Brad hasn't got a problem with revenge, but when it comes to saving his own skin, he's extremely fickle. It's all a balance of what he can afford to lose. If he had felt like Schu was a necessary asset that night (and it makes me a li- ttle angry that he didn't) then he wouldn't have hesitated to recover him. He's definately a suit sometimes. All wallet, no heart.  
  
Not that he can't also be human, complete with goodness and friendship, sometimes. He can. And that's what I was hoping to dig up.  
  
"It's bad, Brad. He'll hurt himself, you know." He glared at me over the top of his paper. Abruptly he snapped it shut, dropped it on the side-table and stood up.  
  
"Since you obviously won't stop whining about it if I don't, fine," he said brusquely. He stalked away, and I grinned behind his back.  
  
"Just don't get in another fight," I said loud enough for him to hear.  
  
"I won't," he said. He'd Seen that too.  
  
"Good." I turned around, settled into the couch cushions, and began to read my book in earnest. 


	10. brad

Midnight Garden  
  
by Kye  
  
Chapter 10  
  
------------  
  
It was at Nagi's insistence that I went to Schuldich's room. I would not have, otherwise; there were occasions when I had no desire to deal with Schuldich's unpleasant temper, and this was one of them. He had picked two fights with me in less than twenty-four hours, and I had no wish to be forced into a third. Still, it was sometimes wise to listen to Nagi; while he was young, he was far from stupid. The stupid ones never do get a firm hold on their powers-- they, more often than not, die very young.  
  
I knocked softly, expecting either no answer or a perturbed shout. I got nothing. I tested the knob; the door was unlocked, which surprised me. Usually Schuldich made certain to lock his door, both against us and, I think, against any surprises. He has never cared for surprises.  
  
I pushed the door open. It let loose and almost uncatchable keening squeal as its hinges rubbed against each other. He should oil that, I thought, if he wants to stay silent as usual.  
  
I looked around the room-- small, square, somewhat messy-- for signs of its occupant. At last I saw him, lying in his bed, camouflaged by the nest of blankets on and around him. They made him blend into the floor, for the most part, but they didn't disguise his hair. He would need brighter colors still to hide that.  
  
Stepping around small mountains of clothes, magazines (of a surprisingly clean nature), and CDs, I knelt down beside him. He was dead to the world, as asleep as a hibernating bear.  
  
Almost. His lips moved by millimeters, spelling out words, some of which I managed to catch.  
  
"Margaret...gonna kill that stupid rabbit...loose again...never told you...love you...please, not dead...not true...that woman...every time...everything in my kitchen...moves it all..." I had to frown at what I read on Schuldich's lips. Perhaps he was dreaming, but the words obviously weren't his everyday thoughts. That could mean that he was still unable to block out the voices. The idea worried me intensely. If he lost control, there would be little I could do. He was dangerous uncontrolled. I remembered still when Eszett first found him, and I never wanted to repeat the experience.  
  
--------------------------  
  
I wasn't involved at the beginning. I was merely another agent of Eszett, and I happened to be passing by when Schuldich was brought in. He was only about fourteen then, and even crazier than Farfarello. He didn't know how to block anything, and to make it worse, his raw power was amazing. Without control, he was being bombarded by the inner voice of every person for approximately forty miles around. That wasn't so bad in the lonely mountains, but they had found him in Frankfurt. In an alley.  
  
Needless to say, he was in far from good condition.  
  
It was a overcheerful and glaringly bright day, with requisite chirping birds and cotton candy clouds. It was warm, too, and I was taking advantage of the rare opportunity to walk outside between duties. I was strolling on the walk beneath the stone arches of the Eszett complex, simply enjoying the shade and the sunny patches, and the occasional green leaf, and the sound of finches.  
  
I was near the entrance when I noticed a Land Rover stopped in the wide gravel road that led to the complex. I paused, interested, and looked at it more analytically. It was green, and held something-- someone --very powerful. The norms who drove and delivered for Eszett hovered around the back door, pulling out whatever was the source of power. When they first extracted the being (I had no idea what it was, besides strong) from the vehicle, it was only a small, unconscious lump, with long red hair and metal-bound wrists. One of the norms pushed up the lump's sleeve- its skin was deathly white -and pressed something against the inside of its elbow. Stim patch? It had probably been displaying erratic lifesigns, and they didn't want to lose it right outside the door.  
  
They messed up, though. The stim patch didn't just keep the lump alive; it forced it awake. It uncurled and pushed out of the norms' grasp. I could see now that it was a youngish teenage boy. They snatched him up again with a slight fumble, probably a guilt fumble from their own stupid dosage.  
  
I remember first seeing that boy as four men struggled to drag him inside from one of Eszett's unmarked Landrovers. His eyes didn't see what anyone else did, and he pulled against the norm guards' clutches and the handcuffs as though they were something even worse. Certainly, had he seen them clearly, he would have fought hard, but not as hard as he did his invisible demons. He shook from head to toe like a trapped, injured beast, crying out at something far away. He battled against every step towards the door like a full grown man, though he was in truth skeletally thin, a fact which was only exaggerated by the shock of red hair. Suddenly he stopped dead, confusing the norms to no small degree. He shook his head vehemently from side to side.  
  
No...No...  
  
I winced as his thoughts echoed through the compound, unbarred, unstopped. I saw the norms overload from the power. Their eyes rolled back to white and they slumped to the ground, alive, probably, but very much unconscious. The boy seemed to realize that he was no longer held; he started, and lurched forward two steps or so. I expected him to run, but he stayed where he was. Much as the norms had done, he keeled over to the ground. And then he screamed: loud and long, and terror-filled, from both his mind and from his mouth, so that it penetrated everything. I fell against a wall and gasped for breath, fighting to put up some sort of barrier; I had been here long enough that I could block the experienced mind-readers with relative ease. This was nothing like it. This boy was confused and terrified, and he was quite possibly the strongest telepath in Eszett's control. If control was the word. I wasn't certain it was.  
  
I glimpsed movement in a window above me and looked up, choking in air with my hands over my ears. A high-ranking pyrokinetic, whom I knew by sight though not be name, held up a gun, aimed, and fired, all in one fluid movement. I couldn't see the dart fly for its speed, but I saw it a millisecond later, embedded in the boy's shoulder. Its white body reflected the sunlight, quivering against his black shirt.  
  
The boy dropped into silence, and a shiver ran through his entire body. Then, with a short expulsion of breath, he collapsed in a lump on the ground. I straightened, trying to look unruffled. It was hard; I hadn't yet achieved the omnipresent composure I had always wished for, and the occurrence had been surprising, to say the least. I watched a moment as the pyro and some other officers hurried out a door and towards the fallen boy. Then, with a shake of my head, I turned around and escaped indoors.  
  
-------------------------  
  
"Schuldich?" I said quietly. He took no notice of me. I reached over and touched his shoulder, giving him a small shake. He stopped mouthing words and squeezed his eyes further shut. "Wake up," I said. At last his eyes opened. He stared up at me owlishly.  
  
"Whaddya want?" he mumbled; he was still half asleep.  
  
"Wake up, Schuldich," I repeated. He blinked, and this time when he looked at me I could tell he saw me clearly.  
  
"Go away," he said. "Why couldn't you let me sleep?" I raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I need to speak with you," I explained. In point of fact, I had simply not wanted to hear other people's thoughts coming out of his mouth. It was too reminiscent of older days. Unfortunately my false excuse was far from convincing.  
  
"No," Schuldich said, and promptly rolled over, stuffing his head under a pillow.  
  
"I apologize," I said. Beneath the bedclothes, Schuldich was still.  
  
"Since when are you sorry about anything?" he asked, in a barbed tone of voice. It was really amazingly clear and clipped, for being under a pillow.  
  
"That is beside the point. I only wished to say that I misinterpreted your intentions, and that I am sorry that I did." And more sorry that your reason was what it was, I added mentally. Schuldich's face emerged from under the pillow. His eyes met mine.  
  
"I can hear you, you know," he said sadly. "I can't help it. Even your blocks..."  
  
"This is worse than you made us think, isn't it?" I asked him. Slowly, he nodded.  
  
"You were right to remember the first day," he said, and that was the worst thing he could have said. He had been asleep when I'd thought that, and he had not been a reader-while-dreaming since the very early days.  
  
"You were asleep. How could you...?" He looked tireder than he had after Weiss.  
  
"I told you, Brad. I can't block anything. It's better when I'm asleep. Better, but not much."  
  
"Then go back to sleep," I said. "I shall try to find you something that works more effectively."  
  
"Sure," he said, although he already looked asleep to me.  
  
"I really will try, Schuldich," I told him. He gave the semblance of a wry smile.  
  
"I know," he said mildly. "I can hear you."  
  
"Oh," I said. He gave me another look, one that said 'Don't worry about it. You can't help being a moron.', and then heaved a sigh and, from all appearances, fell asleep.  
  
---------------------  
  
I pulled Nagi's book out of his hands.  
  
"What?" he asked. Next to Farfarello in a contemplative mood, I do believe him to be the quietest of our little family.  
  
"Schuldich is unwell," I said. "He could hear my thoughts when he was asleep." Nagi lost most of the already sparse color in his cheeks.  
  
"That Ezsett creep..." he said. I wondered how he was finishing that sentence in his mind. "What's the plan?" I picked up my newspapers so that I wouldn't sit on them, and flipped one page over to the locals.  
  
"Well, I'm going to--" I forgot to answer Nagi's question as a headline jumped at me:  
  
FLOWERSHOP MASSACRE LEAVES FOUR DEAD; OWNER IN SHOCK  
  
"Oh, dear," I said quietly.  
  
"What?" said Nagi. I passed him the paper. His eyes quickly settled where mine had. "Ah," he said. "Well, that might be interesting."  
  
I stood and began to read over his shoulder:  
  
'Black roses are in order today at the Cat's Meow flower shop, where sometime last night its four employee inhabitants were brutally murdered. The proprietor, Momoe Uchibana, discovered the young men early this morning when she arrived to open shop. Police are scouring the scene, and while they have some evidence on hand, there are so far no suspects in this horror-esque tragedy.' It went on, but to read it seemed unnecessary.  
  
"As if we haven't enough to worry about," I said, straightening.  
  
"You're telling me," said Nagi. "And what do you think they mean by evi-- ooh..." His normally pale face turned down a few notches to 'Snow Whiter: Deceased'. "Ooh..." he said again.  
  
"What is it, Nagi?" I asked. He looked me in the eye, and said, in thoughtful, measured tones:  
  
"I think we are screwed, Brad." 


	11. schu

Midnight Garden  
  
by Kye  
  
Chapter 11  
  
-------------------  
  
I hate feeling sorry for myself. It's worse than only feeling whatever made you sorry. It's slimy, dirty, worthless, disgusting. You can't always stop it, either. Sometimes things happen that eat away at a person until self- pity is the most solid thing he has to hold on to. It's not their fault. It just happens-- to some people more than others.  
  
Oh, like, I dunno, me, for example? At that very moment? Brad left me, thinking I was back to beddy-bye, when really I was sinking into wallowing quality depression.  
  
Stop it, I told myself. As if there weren't enough people talking to me already. The voices were a constant buzz in my head, like standing in the middle of a swarm of very large bees. They hurt about as much. Ack. More self-pity. More whinging.  
  
But then, I kind of had the right to it. I mean, here am I, just your average telepathic murderer, and I can't get through the day without something going horribly wrong. Let's see-- torture-by-midget, a whiny, stuck-up boss, a bigger boss who wants us dead, and a super-powerful lackey thereof who's screwed with my brain, hence the hundreds of people, talking ALL AT ONCE in my head.  
  
Aw, screw it. I'll whine if I DAMN WELL PLEASE.  
  
So I was about to sink into an oblivious mope when Farfarello showed up. He was quiet, so quiet I didn't hear him. I didn't even notice him until he was standing right next to me.  
  
"You didn't tell," he said accusingly, meeting my eyes unblinkingly. There was nothing like a nutso glaring at you to cure Sorry for Self Syndrome.  
  
"I guess not," I said. There was a long pause, and I thought fleetingly that the conversation might be over, and I could sleep off my beer now.  
  
"Why not?" Farf said. Oh, fine, then-- ask a hard question. I hid under my pillow like I had with Brad.  
  
"Bekush I dodiddud go 'way." There was silence from the other side of the pillow. Then, without warning, it was tugged away from me. I twisted around to see Farfarello, who held the pillow lightly by one hand. He turned his head slightly to one side, thoughtful.  
  
"You could have told me. I don't make it loud." I was about to protest, until I realized that he was right. When Brad had been here, his thoughts had been louder than anyone's. When he had left, it had been the difference between a tornado and a rainstorm. Farfarello didn't change that an inch. Actually, that wasn't right-- he made it...~quieter~.  
  
"You're right. You don't." A wave of tiredness mixed with hangover overtook me, and I shut my eyes with a sigh. I don't like sighs. They're teenager- ish. But I sighed anyway, because it seemed the thing to do.  
  
Apparently I wasn't the only one who thought things needed doing.  
  
Farfarello sat all of the sudden on the edge of my bed-- I could tell because of the way it sagged in where he settled. I was pressing the base of my hand against my forehead, trying to push out the pain; Farf's hand touched mine, and pulled it to my shoulder. Then I felt his breath against my forehead, and gently, so that I hardly felt it, hardly believed it, his lips touched my skin.  
  
I opened my eyes, and he pulled back. His hand, though, stayed on mine. He looked at me. Oh, but that was an expression that would be hard to forget. It was like the trademark lazy-dangerous, but with a hint of something else, something I didn't understand at all. I opened my mouth to say something (I don't know what), shut it again with a snap, and opened it again. I must have looked like a beached flounder.  
  
"Farf? What exactly...?"  
  
"I told you, I don't want you to hurt," he said, as if that explained everything. Voices aside, my mind was a mess. It wasn't sure whether to be creeped out or pissed off or what, exactly. And while my head didn't particularly like what Farfarello had done, the rest of me didn't exactly dislike it.  
  
"Don't confuse me when I've got a hangover," I told him weakly. He held my hand more tightly.  
  
"Sh. Sleep," he commanded, and then, bewilderingly, "You make it worse." I started to ask what he meant, but when he'd mentioned sleep, it had done something to me. I felt the world slow...down...and my eyes started...to close, and I tried to say 'what the hell are you talking about, farf?' but  
  
it  
  
was  
  
all  
  
dark.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
A.N.: Did it work? Is this too bad? I know it's short, but, hey, it's a one- event chapter. I'd say a kiss is enough to get its own, especially considering the relationship thus far.  
  
Rika: only a SEMI-kiss!! What the heck was that about, huh? Is that all the action I get in this story?!  
  
kye: O__o since when are you a yaoist, ri-chan?? ARG! IT'S TOO MUCH TO TAKE!! My OWN muse! Dear little Rika! All grown up and wanting to go explicit!! *starts bawling*  
  
Rika: Kye-chan...0_0;; Oh, well, be as weird as you want. I got a fluffy chappie all for meself!  
  
Marc: Uh, no. The angst was mine.  
  
Rika: But love won out! Fluff will always triumph!  
  
Marc: You sound like Amelia from Slayers.  
  
Rika: O.o!... Shutting up now.  
  
Kye: *keeps bawling* 


	12. nagi

Midnight Garden  
  
Chapter 12  
  
by Kye Syr  
  
"What do you mean, screwed?" Brad said again. I pointed further down the page.  
  
"No suspects, huh?" I said weakly.  
  
"'We have actually got other samples of the DNA found on the evidence on file, in relation to several unsolved murders,' stated Police Chief Watanabe. 'Even if we don't have names, this gives us some history with the perpetrator. We may be able to establish some kind of behavioral pattern.'"  
  
Brad read over my shoulder, and out of the corner of my eye I could see his fingers digging into the couch.  
  
"Oh, that was very clever," he said with a growl. "How did they manage to get other samples, anyway? With the exception of Farfarello, we don't ever leave anything behind. And the only ones who touched the smoker were you and me. So how did they...?"  
  
"Should we do something?" I asked. I didn't want him wandering off into a musing and leaving me in suspense before he answered some questions. Brad straightened and gave his hair a tug.  
  
"I believe we may be forced to," he said. "Considering our Ezsett trouble, Schuldich notwithstanding, we cannot afford to fight on any other fronts." He strode across the room, pushing up his glasses and looking so overly Crawfordlike that I could hardly believe him to be real. "So," he said. "Tonight, perhaps. Or tomorrow at the latest. No, tonight. The sooner this is dealt with, the better. After all, that's yesterday's paper. Who knows what they've found out since. You and I will go. Farfarello will remain here with Schuldich. I don't think missing out will kill him. Or, more importantly, anyone else."  
  
"You have a plan?" I said. He probably did. Brad was good with the fast planning of all things criminal.  
  
"Yes," he said (who called it?). "You know where the evidence for recent crimes with ongoing investigations would be kept, correct?"  
  
"Yes." I knew the whole town. Especially the parts where death and destruction were concerned. I actually had most of the police records for the past twenty years stored in my unobtrusive little computer. As I saw it, we were, in our line of work, likely to come up against the law at some point, and someone might as well know the facts beforehand.  
  
"Well, good," said Crawford. "You will find whatever concerns us-- past cases included. I will work on getting us quietly inside-- I know someone who thinks I am someone else-- and when we know where and when we are going, we'll slip in, slip out. Without anyone trying to kill on our side, it should be simple. I mean that, by the way. No unecessary flinging of people against sharp or heavy objects."  
  
"Yes, Crawford."  
  
"I'll call my deluded associate, then. You find what we need."  
  
He disappeared into the Great Crawford Void to do whatever he did there. I went to my room and started hacking. The perk of being a tele-k. (or of being a good one, anyway) was that you could find and move things that existed only as numbers as well as tangible matter. It made hacking, stealing, and covering one's footsteps a snap. If you had the skill.  
  
I, of course, did. Brad's big job took me all of maybe ten minutes. All evidence from the Weiss case was being held in the analysis center pending proper poking about. Older evidence, from a few of our less tidy jobs, was actually being transferred to the central Tokyo police station that night from a storage facility out of town.  
  
Wasn't that convenient?  
  
I memorized everything we would need and erased my existence from their files. On cue, Brad came in. Without knocking, of course. He was lucky I didn't feel like more than one fight tonight.  
  
"Done?" he asked. He had his coat on. Hat, too. That was a surprise. Usually he refused to wear one, for the ladylike reason of it would mess up his hair. Only in extreme cold and states of more extreme distraction would he...ah. That was it. Super-business-mode had settled upon him. Not even fashion could now stop him doing what he set out to do.  
  
"Done," I said. "Now?" It was only about noon. Not exactly prime time for evidence snatching.  
  
"No," Brad replied, but didn't explain. "Anything I should know?"  
  
"They're going to be transporting the....other....evidence tonight. I have a map."  
  
"Good. You figure out when we should intercept. As for our little insurance problem...my contact is quite willing to exchange shifts with a friend last minute due to his aunt's eightieth birthday party on Saturday. He will likely mysteriously disappear into the lunchroom at about 1:38 A.M. to investigate a disturbance. If someone slips by in the three point five minutes he is gone, he will be very sorry to hear about it. He will, however, have found the bird that somehow flew into the building, hit a camera and shorted them out, and set off the motion sensors."  
  
And the coat is, what? So you're ready? I thought.  
  
"What's with the coat?"  
  
"Oh, this?" said Brad, sounding distracted. "We need groceries."  
  
It was just like Brad to leave me to worry while he went off for vegetables.  
  
Apparently there were lots of choices that day. Five hours later, he wasn't back yet. Six, and I wondered if he maybe didn't want to come back. Seven, and I decided he had either suffered amnesia-inducing damage or was dead. Finally, at eight, he turned up again. He looked sullen.  
  
I looked at his arms. Except for a newspaper curled under one elbow, they were empty.  
  
"Stores closed?" I asked. He threw the paper at me, in explanation I assumed. I looked at the headline, and then at the picture beneath it, and then back at the headline.  
  
There, in full color and life-like detail, was Brad Crawford, looking over the shoulder of his blindingly white suit.  
  
SUSPECT IN PHOTO-I.D.ED said the headline. PUBLIC TAKES UP SEARCH.  
  
This, I decided, was one of those occasions when there was both plenty of news and no news that was good news.  
  
"Oh," I said.  
  
"This makes things all the more difficult," he said. "I'm quite certain my associate at the police station will have seen this by now, and even he would not wish to be involved with the executors of gruesome murder. We'll have to go sooner. They'll have security up for hours before we're to arrive, if he's said anything. He probably has, saying that we'd threatened his family or something. Even if we go now, we're going to have some trouble."  
  
"Why didn't you know about this?" I asked.  
  
"I was thinking of that. I've been having trouble Seeing for several weeks now. I am thinking it may be thanks to our friend the hunter."  
  
"The one in Schu's head?"  
  
"What other hunter is there?"  
  
I shrugged. Just making sure.  
  
"Now, Nagi, if we are ever to succeed, we must go now. You get what you need--"  
  
"Is there any point?" I asked.  
  
"To what?"  
  
"To getting back what we're trying to get back."  
  
"There's as likely to be your DNA on that evidence as mine. We don't want them to find any more of us, do we?" I supposed not. "Now come on. Get what you need and I will update Farfarello."  
  
Farfarello 3.0, I thought. Version one wasn't psycho.  
  
I found my coat and got ready to commit some crime.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------  
  
Kye: Gomen nasai, minna, for such a long intermission. I went chapter 12 braindead, wrote seven new chapters, realized something was missing in the middle, and wrote this. There'll be one or two new parts to this subplot, and then we're back on course with Ezsett's new favorite pet. If he *is*--  
  
Eki: WHA! Ignore her! That's why author notes should NOT be allowed. Trying to give things away all the time...  
  
Akemi: Stupid. After all Eki's hard work, you try to ruin everything! P  
  
Kye: 'o___o'  
  
Rika: Lay off, she's trying!  
  
Akemi: Easy for you to say. She's actually working on *your* book! Even if it does suck.  
  
Kye: -_-...Until later. If you've read the whole chapter, do me a favor and take three more minutes to R+R. Danke! Domo! Gracias! Thanx! ^v^ 


	13. schu

Midnight Garden Chapter 13 by Kye Syr  
  
I had liked it better when I thought I was asleep. Even given Farf's new form of not predictable, I preferred the idea of being unconscious in his company to being conscious anywhere.well, anywhere.  
It looked to me like my preference wasn't an issue.  
I was standing alone at the end of someone's driveway, waiting for a bus to come. I could see to the next street through the crack between the buildings, and glimpsed the bus I wanted passing by. Only a few more minutes, then, I thought. It would turn at the next light and start its loop backwards and reach me in no time.  
"You can't go that way," Greta said.  
"I know," I told her, "but it was my only idea."  
It was snowing. At first I thought that the flakes were as fine as powdered sugar, but I soon realized they were the more the size of Euros (a stupid kind of money, I thought). Not even that. The size of hands.  
Greta caught a flake between her pinky and her thumb, wiggling the other three fingers with too much dexterity. She looked through the snowflake's holes at me, and said, "Don't keep straying to the front. The lightning strikes twice but it has to strike once first. To say nothing of the dog."  
"If you would just come when I asked instead of when I'm trying to catch a bus," I said, "then maybe you wouldn't be stuck shoveling the driveway."  
  
Wow, I thought. For reality, this is kind of surreal, even for me.  
I saw the bus turn at the end of the street. I was certain it was the right one, even if Greta disagreed.  
"It's the right one," I told her. "If I don't get on this one there won't be anymore. If there aren't any more then the watermelons will roll, and we'll be on the hill."  
Greta said, "But at least when you roll you can stand up again. The beast will eat you, and then your legs will not be there to stand on." I felt my throat clench like I was about to cry. She was making me angry.  
"But I won't have to stand!" I shouted. It was very quiet.  
The bus was a few feet away. It was drooling. Its eyes were lights were trained on me. It had its teeth out.  
"I'm the right one," it said. It steamed.  
"Don't forget the high roads!" cried Greta. "I want to go home! The beast won't take you anywhere but here!"  
"I'm the right one."  
"I don't know," I said. "Brad said the bus was the only way to good lettuce. We need lettuce, Greta!"  
"I'm the right one."  
"I want to go home. He'll give us chicken soup at home. He said he'd be there."  
"But how can we leave?"  
"I'm the right one."  
"He said he'd be there if we came home!"  
"I DON'T KNOW!"  
The bus screamed and Greta roared and everyone was talking talking TALKING and they wouldn't let me go, were holding me down and shrieking and the beast was laughing like a Kookaburra and why did this have to be real?  
Then Greta said "Don't die before tea," and I screamed and woke up. -------------------------------------------------------- A.N.: @_@ even I only understand about half of that. I'm thinking to follow up with an explanation, or put one in the notes at the very very end of the story. Most everything that's said or is present has a very specific meaning. I'd be interested in finding out what peeps think this crazy dream really means, meantime. Later, gators. ^^ 


	14. schu

Disclaimer: As usual, I didn't come up with WK and I don't deserve any $$ from it. I don't deserve to be sued, either. Oh...Greta's mine, though. All mine. She doesn't deserve to be stolen.   
  
Midnight Garden Chapter 14 by Kye Syr  
  
I sat up like a shot, the last trace of my very real scream resounding in my ears. Was there a vice on my head, or was that Farf squashing me? Oh. Fingers. Farf.  
"You can let me go," I said. He did. I breathed deep and blinked, trying to orient myself. It had been a dream after all. No wonder it had been so weird. I reached up to brush away my hair and felt sweat on my forehead. Only a dream, I told me. No big deal.  
The only big deal was that the voices were back full force, almost as bad as Brad had remembered them. They'd been kind of subdued in the dream. Maybe Greta scared them. If I didn't know her, she would scare even me. Not that I could tell you why; she's not your overdressed punk, with the black lipstick and the spiked hair and the twelve safety pins sticking through even the most uncomfortable looking parts of her body. She's not the creepy little whitely glowing girl, either, all mystical and wide-eyed. She's just...Greta. She doesn't really look like anyone in particular except herself, and then only when you look closely at her, and then you see her looking back and she is somehow the most terrifying thing in the world. Well. If you don't know her.  
But why the voices had gone when I was out didn't really matter, I thought. What mattered to me was that they were back, and they were horrible. I heard myself whimper and clenched my teeth, angry. If there was one thing I didn't want to do, it was to reach the lowest levels of pathetic. I'd fallen through enough of them already, what with being stabbed, tortured, mentally attacked, drunk, yelled at, pitied (by Brad, no less), and kissed. By Farf, no less.  
I desperately didn't want to whimper.  
"They hurt you," said Farf. "They hurt you in your sleepings. Why?"  
"Not my sleepings," I said. I could barely hear my voice, it was so quiet; so much for avoiding pathetic. Damn, damn. "I hear them now. In my wakings. Bastards."  
"Not the voices," said Farf, who looked as though he thought I was a total idiot. "Your brain. Your brain and the Hunter."  
"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, they did. Who cares? Now it's the voices...hurt like a bitch."  
"That's not logical."  
"Huh?" I said and he thought, 'hurts like a bitch'. "Oh. No. Who cares? It just does. Oh, shit." I fell back and, when I bounced against the pillows, felt a wave of dizzy nausea near strong enough to knock me out again. I opened my screwed-shut eyes and almost shut them again. I hated surprises, and he was a surprise.  
You're not Farf, I tried to tell him. I could see now, see that it wasn't really him. He was different from Farf. He was little and happy and he had two whole eyes and he said, "You never know what will happen to a person, do you?"  
"No," I said. "You don't know anything."  
"You do," said the boy. "You know a lot. You know more than you want to. You know everything that lives in the world, everything that walks and crawls and thinks. And now you know me. And I don't even exist anymore. How do you know me, when I don't exist?"  
"I don't know," I said. "Am I still not awake?"  
"You're awake?"  
"I don't know. Am I?"  
"It doesn't matter. You don't belong to them anymore. So it doesn't matter whether you're asleep or awake. You'll never see them again anyway."  
"What?" I said. This felt very bad.  
"Hope you liked talking to them the last time you talked to them. It'll just be my kind from now on. Until he kills you, I guess." I sat up and sank back down. Ugh. It was almost as bad with my eyes shut as with them open.  
"What are you talking about?" I said. Very, very bad.  
"Don't think I understand. I'm dead. I'm only alive in the back of his brain. You're just lucky I'm not staring at you all creepy and saying cryptic stuff. But I don't know anything. Not a thing. You know, if ya say something right now, he might hear you. You're almost gone, but he might hear you. You hear me? You listening? Hey, you're blacking out. I guess I gotta go."  
"Oh--" I started, 'crap.' And that was it. 


	15. brad and a note

Okay, okay. Here's the thing: this isn't an entire chapter because I stopped in the middle and started writing the story over again. I have ten chapters and a prologue in the new version, although it's taken me about a year to write that much. It really is a lot better, and I hope to occasionally update until, one day, there's a beginning, middle and END! So if anyone feels real interest in this story anymore (uu) please see A Sense of Dark. It's just better that way.

--PenguinKye

July 2, 2005

Midnight Garden

Chapter 15

by Kye Syr

It was silence in the car, which I supposed was good. Knowing one is on something akin to a suicide mission is rather detrimental to one's ability to focus, and considering my currently erratic ability to See, I needed all of the focus that could possibly be procured.

If Nagi had, like me, been focused, instead of twitching like the recently deceased, then perhaps my focus would have been stronger than it was.

"Nagi," I said, swerving to avoid an irritatingly law-abiding car.

"What?" said Nagi, looking straight ahead as his knee jumped frenetically.

"Stop twitching," I said.

"What?" said Nagi. He looked down at his leaping leg in surprise. "Oh," he said. He stopped twitching. "Sorry," he said.

"Thank you."

We were on course for the truck first. Caught far enough from its destination and with its communications destroyed, it could be some time before anyone realized that something was not as it was intended to be. We would, therefore, be meeting Tokyo Police Van 145 (from a safe distance) in the next five minutes, while the van was still twenty miles from police headquarters.

In the meantime, I was looking out for a vision. There seemed to be none.

"Nagi," I said, "Do you know where the truck is?" The convenience of a really good telekinetic was that it could feel the object before seeing it—in Nagi's case, _long_ before.

Nagi concentrated, and finally he nodded. I saw from the side that his eyes were reddening, the blood rushing to them as he focused on what could not be seen.

"Give me a mile. Thirty seconds with both us moving." He squinted and added, "And slow down so I can aim." I drove on; Nagi leaned forward in his seat, his hands gripping his knees, his eyes on nothing like a fox's on a bird.

"Slow!" he said suddenly. My foot shot to the brake.

"Turn, turn," whispered Nagi, no longer talking to me.

Twelve miles away, Tokyo Police Van 145 was indubidably defying its driver's commands.

"Speed up," said Nagi.

Third gear, fourth gear, fifth—I saw Nagi mark them off with taut fingers. He was beginning to breathe hard.

"To the left, over, over, over," he commanded through gritted teeth. He was tense, so concentrated that he seemed little more than nerves, muscles, and enormous wrong-colored eyes. I sympathized: it couldn't be easy to send an unwilling truck over a bridge from a dozen miles away.

"FALL," ordered Nagi harshly, and after a moment of absolute concentration it was done. Nagi's tension fell out of him, and he slumped against his seat, a quivering, gasping, jello-y marathoner.

"Finished," he said in a clear voice that belied the expense of the endeavor.

"Don't wear yourself out, Nagi," I said. "We're not nearly through."

"Know," he said. Or maybe 'no'; I couldn't tell which. It didn't seem to matter either way.

"You're certain that it's done for all?" Nagi nodded shakily.

"It started burning," he said, sounding pleased, and a moment later added, "Exploded." Exploded, at the bottom of a sixy-foot ravine after losing control and jumping the railing. What a pity. Such fine officers lost.

"Good," I said. "On to the station."

The benefit of a mysterious dive-bombing truck, particularly a police truck, was that many police would follow out to help. And many firemen. And many paramedics.

"How will we take the station, Brad?" asked Nagi. He seemed apprehensive; perhaps the long-distance use of his power had worn him out some. I hoped not, for we had much to do yet. Van 145 was only the first stop.


End file.
